Challenge Accepted
by DW-chan
Summary: To Pariston, Cheadle was but a perfectionist: process-oriented and boring. Cheadle, remembering Pariston's threat against her term as Chairperson, decided to take things to a different level, and everyone's surprised. Her hate for Pariston fueled her, but will she lose herself in the process? A three-shot submitted for the FF Hetero Contest; Chairman Pair. :3
1. One: Strange Tidings

***HxH Disclaimer***

**Author's Notes:** Upon perusing the Election Arc, it dawned to me that I have yet another OTP (The Rhythm Pair and Emitter Pair being first in line). Yep, send the heart confetti to Rat and Dog, aka the Chairman Pair. xDD I've read up a bit that in the Chinese Zodiac, those born under the year of the rat and those born under the dog year have good enough compatibility; in fact, they are a "lively pair."

SO YEA let the liveliness begin. :P

This piece of weirdness happens a bit after the events of the Election (with apparently AU properties), with the thoughts of Pariston's threat/challenge slipping into Cheadle's mind every now and then… or more often than not. xD

This three-shot is submitted as my second entry for the FF Hetero Contest. Enjoy. :3

* * *

Challenge Accepted  
By: DW-chan

**One: Strange Tidings**

* * *

"Cheadle, if I ever see your organization become boring… Then I'll be back to play. For _real_ this time."

-Pariston to Cheadle, Chapter 335

* * *

It was a balmy, otherwise uneventful morning when Beans barged into the Hunter Association Chairman's office. He had with him a stack of folders, and his round face and legume eyes mirrored a rather puzzling disaster. He knew the news would place his position on the line, but this bit of news was rather unheard of—or at least, had not surfaced again—until now.

"Chairperson Cheadle!" he breathed in his piping voice.

A petite woman, dressed in dog-ears, a green capelet, and something ghastly that resembled a nun's habit draped with lace, regarded the agitated assistant with her bespectacled canine-like gaze. She seemed a tad surprised and a tad annoyed; Beans' whirlwind of an entry had placed some of her books, lined up very neatly by brass bookends on her desk, in slight disarray. Something pricked at the back of her neck as she itched to poke her misaligned volumes back to their snug formation.

Instead, she resigned to the urgency of the predicament, and said, "Yes, Beans?"

"Aliens!" cried Beans, flinging the stacks of folders into the air, and they landed on her desk, topsy-turvy. Cheadle flinched again. Beans was usually neat, but the late Chairman Netero—bless his soul—seemed to have sprinkled a bit of his good-natured chaos onto his assistants as of late. But, then, she was not quite sure if she heard the little man correctly.

"I beg your pardon—"

"Aliens, Chairperson, aliens!" repeated the beleaguered Beans. He opened a folder. He opened two. He opened three—

"Thank you, Beans, I shall take it from here," said Cheadle, trying to politely stop the little man from opening the fourth folder and having their contents spill all over the place.

Adjusting her spectacles more comfortably over her dog-like nose, she surveyed the objects of tumult. She saw pictures of ordinary people, civilians even, in their flesh-and-pink obviously human bodies, wearing everyday clothes, doing everyday things, like eating ice cream or going to a pub, or going up the steps to work. She looked up at Beans for a moment, feeling a smidgen of suspicion, checking if the little man wasn't playing a trick on her, on behalf of _someone._

Beans stood there, round eyes rounder, furrowed brows furrowing further.

Cheadle tilted her head a little, an eyebrow tilting with it, as if giving him a small signal to say, _What am I supposed to be looking at here?_

The people in the photographs looked nothing like aliens.

Beans seemed to have understood after a while. "They're in disguise," he pointed out. "Disguised as humans." His voice suddenly sounded arcane. "And they are among us."

Cheadle wanted to roll her eyes and grab a cup of tea to smoothen her nerves. Less than two weeks as the 14th Chairperson of the Hunter Association, and these ridiculous things were already popping up. She had always known that a certain Rat would like to ruffle her fur immensely every now and then, but even so, she couldn't credit him for aiming low as to hand her a child's horror story and thoroughly take her for a fool.

"Beans—"

"I've received these photographs from Double-Star Hunters all over the world! They know!"

Cheadle decided to humor the little man a bit more, and she patiently waited for him to finish his wild story.

Beans' voice dropped again. "And now that _they_ know that _we_ know, they'll come for us—"

"Beans, even if these were aliens, had they done any remote harm to any humans so far?"

Beans thought for a while. "There… were no reports yet, Chairperson."

"Ah," said Cheadle. "So it seems that they aren't a threat."

"But the Double-Star Hunters—"

"Just give me their names, and they can talk to me," further humored the canine-like woman. "Besides," she continued, "I don't recall anyone appointing themselves as a Extraterrestrial Hunter, did they?"

"Um," said Beans. "I believe there's no such title yet—"

"Also," interrupted Cheadle, "Such matters aren't for the Hunters Association to handle. There is the government, the military, the Space Frontier Society… if you get my drift, Beans."

"But, but…" insisted Beans helplessly. "Aliens."

"Thank you, Beans, that will be all." She promptly gathered the folders herself, and handed them over the little suited man. The legume-like fellow looked as though a hundred tiny boulders had pattered on his shoulders.

Like a mouse doused in water, he slowly slinked out of the office.

Cheadle sighed in exasperation and sank into her huge, cushioned chair and closed her eyes. The chair swiveled a little when pushed by her weight, so that when she opened her eyes, the framed photograph of the late Chairman Netero, hanging on a wall next to framed photographs of former Chairpersons, was grinning at her.

She had always been fond of the old man. She wouldn't be part of the Zodiac Twelve if she simply were a brainless pawn for Netero to play with, even if the old man indulged himself with their company every now and then. He chose them for their unique traits, and they chose to be devoted to him for his unique traits.

All Twelve Zodiac.

All twelve.

Even that Rat.

_Especially_ that Rat.

His words _boring organization_ hit her more than his _I'll be back to play for real. _Scheming, conniving, little rodent. Once more, it seemed that he had her in his little puppet arena. She knew that whatever action she did as Chairperson would be the direct effect of his words on her. If she stepped up her game and un-boring-ize the Association, it would be all because he said so. If she remained "boring" in order to spite him, he'll simply come for her anyway. And the last thing she needed was to see his face again, which made her want to rip a continent off the world map with her bare paws and fling it at him.

Still… it never left her mind.

_Boring organization._

She felt fingernails claw on a board at the back of her head.

_Boring organization._

She looked at her desk, and once again the disarrayed books came to her sight. She reached out, laid her paw-like hands on the books, and flung them face-down. Now there was a visible gap among her well-arranged hardcovers that seemed to sneer at her with airy eyes.

_Boring, eh?_

She grit her teeth.

"Hell no," she said aloud, and for a moment she thought she saw Ex-Chairman Netero's grin grow wider.

* * *

"Haven't had anything interesting going on for a while," said Saiyu, the Monkey, absently scratching the back of his head and feasting on a bowl of peanuts. He yawned to punctuate his point.

"Well, there's the Pazifik Expedition and their findings—" attempted Mizaistom, the Ox.

There was a slurping sound from the other end of the table. Ginta, the Sheep, seemed to be enjoying his bowl of ramen.

"That's all? I've heard the Pazifik Expedition story a gazillion times already," complained Kanzai, the Tiger. "There's gotta be something else out there than the same old shit."

"Something's bound to come up soon," said Sacchou, the Horse, quietly, as he got up from their dining table and made his way to the water station. He was turning on the tap over his water cup.

"Cheadle better come up with something better than just same old expeditions," informed Saiyu, purposely checking his nails.

"Well, I don't see why you aren't out there doing your _stupendously_ exciting Hunter duties instead of staying here with the rest of the Zodiac and moaning about it," intoned Mizai, his voice belying his growing irritation for the Monkey.

"Well, aren't we supposed to stay for a bit more until Chairperson Cheadle gets settled into her new position?" said Sacchou. He had drunk a cup and was filling it once more. "And didn't we all volunteer to stay?"

"Fuh," grumbled Saiyu. He made a face, but didn't say anything more.

There seemed to be a commotion outside. The perimeter of their dining area was surrounded by a wall of fiber glass, and around the glass were offices of other Association departments, and past the Security Department was the Chairperson's Office, down the hall.

Botobai, the Dragon, suddenly barged into their dining premises in such force that the glass dangerously rattled. Mizai tentatively reached out to still the quaking glass and watched as the senior member of the Zodiac heaved, and then bellowed in a voice that suited his person: "POSSESSED."

"Say what?" asked Kanzai, hand on his cheek, looking bored despite the racket.

"The scrolls were right," the Dragon boomed on, his fiery whiskers quivering. "The Apocalypse is near!"

"You serious?" said Saiyu.

"POSSESSED!" chanted Botobai, but he looked more flustered than frightened… because, well, nothing can really frighten a Zodiac until—

"Mother of Tender Mercies!" It was Ginta, finishing his seventh helping of noodles, who swore. His watery pan-like eyes seemed like they were about pop out of their sockets. He looked like an untidy large child with some noodle strings still dangling from his half-open mouth. He was looking through the glass wall, behind Botobai.

Everyone followed his gaze.

And then they saw it. Or rather, _her_.

Chairperson Cheadle had emerged from her office.

She no longer had her encumbering bonnet on, and she had gotten rid of the shroud of a cape that wrapped her like an egg roll, so her shoulders were freed and nearly bare.

Saiyu had been eating peanuts. Now the peanuts were missing their mark and were rolling all over him instead of into his mouth.

Cheadle still wore her dog-ear headband, but her honey-colored hair was up on a ponytail, and it bounced like fatal fire behind her. Now, without her hair and the bonnet shadowing her face, that's when they realized that she no longer wore her glasses. Her cobalt-blue eyes shone fiercely for the world to see.

And was that… a pretty shade of lipstick on?

Mizai didn't realize that he had dropped the sandwich he was unwrapping just a moment ago. Egg slices and lettuce leaves were on his pantaloons.

Sacchou was filling an already overflowing cup. His finger stayed on the tap. His mouth was agape.

Kanzai watched closely in apparent delight. His eyes were also platter-wide but then he nudged the thoroughly discombobulated Mizaistom with saucy intrigue.

"There's this cliché that girls with glasses are really hot chicks waiting to be hatched," he scratchily offered, still delighted.

Mizaistom made a sound of a dying pig.

Kanzai pounded his friend Ox's back in fond amazement. "Well, those farking cliché's can fark themselves. I'll be damned coz they're true."

Saiyu suddenly sprang to action and was about to dial a number on his cell phone when Kanzai had enough consciousness in him to ask, "Oi, Monkey, what's up?"

"I'm calling my loved ones," said Saiyu, looking rather intent and serious. "Botobai is right; let's evacuate the planet because the world is ending."

"Oh for the—"

Kanzai stopped on his tracks. They all then realized the Cheadle was walking towards them.

They immediately shuffled and made themselves presentable; Botobai cleared his throat and was apparently red in the face.

She walked with a different grace. She walked as though she brought the haze of the night with her. She wore a dark green blouse that emphasized the smallness of her waist and the shapely mounds on her chest that sent even Ginta searing like the lamb chop he was. She wore a pair of linen pants that draped the length of her legs. On her throat hung a cross, set on a beaded choker. She strode into the Zodiac men's dining quarters with a different kind of confidence; with a simple, "come hither" motion of a finger, her face rather expressionless save for a brow that twitched with expressed command, she beckoned the six Zodiac men to follow her.

"Meeting," said Mizai superfluously, and like a bunch of crazed teenage schoolboys, they scrambled out of the dining quarters and pitter-pattered at the wake of a Cheadle Yorkshire they have yet to better recognize.

* * *

Earlier that day, about three hours before the proposed meeting, Cheadle had requested Clook, the Rooster (or rather, Chicken) to join her in the office. She should have asked for the presence of Piyon and Ghel as well, but she wanted the opinion of one female Zodiac first. Besides, she liked Clook's openness and straightforward aim to anyone's ego without crushing it to smithereens.

"Well, yes, girl," said Clook, observing her prim and proper friend. "I've always thought you needed an overhaul, but ya know, I also respect other people's tastes. Can't blame yours if you've been raised that way."

Cheadle held up a hand. "I think we can stop with you saying that I need an overhaul." She blinked at the slim, feathered woman before her. Cheadle had departed from her desk so she and Clook were settled comfortably at the office lounge. The other woman was still scrutinizing her, a bright folded feathered fan on her chin.

"Well, if you're all for it, Cheadle, I can give you something preliminary. Let's start with that outfit, right, hon?"

Cheadle absently held on to her capelet. "Well…"

"Can't force anyone, see," Clook expressed. She smiled knowingly. "But there's always a compromise."

"Like what?"

"You can start by simply taking off that capelet thing—" And the other woman simply reached out and unfastened the garment off Cheadle's shoulders. "And voila! All set till the clock strikes twelve."

Cheadle gasped and covered her shoulders, as though Clook had stripped her naked, when she was still in another thick layer of clothing. Clook gave her a slightly disapproving look, and clicked her tongue.

"Girl, give me a yes, or give me a no," offered Clook. "You want that overhaul, or don't you?"

Cheadle's hands slowly fell to her lap, where she lightly grasped at her skirt. It took Clook a bit by storm when the young Dog woman stood up, peeled the bonnet off her head, let her hair loose; then with a simultaneous stroke, she peeled the spectacles off her nose as well. When that was done, she presented herself for Clook's approval.

"Oh, woman, there's a minx in you that we can work on yet," Clook chirped, visibly pleased.

But then, Cheadle had ruffled her hair, and with a swift stroke, tied it in a ponytail.

"I'll need some contact lenses," she proclaimed. There was a glass shelf nearby that faintly reflected anything on it, and Cheadle pored over her drabness on the glass. She smoothed her hands over her waist.

"Maybe a cinch?" she went on.

"Well, yes, but Cheadle, hon…"

"No, not a cinch. I'll look like a tethered balloon." She took off for a moment to fetch a magazine, and returned. She pointed at a dozen photos on the glossy pages. "I'm not certain why the Ex-Chairman had these magazines lying around, but this," she pointed to a picture. "And this, and this," she pointed some more. "They look great, don't you think?"

"Yes, girl, but you see—"

"Oh, I still like green, I'm sure we can get this in green soon enough…"

"Hon, it usually takes a day to ship—"

"Oh, only an hour for those with a Hunter license."

"Oh… all right, sweetie, but don't you think you're going a little too—"

"Make-up!"

Clook blinked. "Make-up?"

"Like what you have on your eyes, and lips, Clook! They make you look really beautiful…"

Clook seemed really flattered. "Well, thanks, girl, but…"

It took a moment for Cheadle to work on Clook's pace. "Oh yes, dear? You wanted to say something?"

"Girl, I'm not opposed with you wanting a bit of a change, but don't you think this is a bit too… sudden?"

Cheadle looked rather confused at first. Clook realized that Cheadle had a schoolgirl vulnerability in her sometimes, especially when it was dabbling into something completely different from what she had been accustomed to all her life.

"Clook," Cheadle seemed at first to be explaining herself, until all she said was, "I'll have that green blouse and grey slacks in an hour." She flipped the magazine again. "And these boots." She flicked another page. "And this… this…" she fumbled for the words.

"Lipstick," helped Clook.

"Yes, that," said Cheadle.

"Cheadle, darling," Clook smiled at her friend, somewhere between uneasy and elated. "I've always known you're something else."

_I've created a monster_, Clook pondered.

"Oh, why did you want them in an hour?" Clook managed to ask Cheadle; the woman had somehow returned to her old self as she replaced her glasses on her button-nosed snout.

"I'll meet with you and the rest of the Zodiacs by one o' clock." She tore the ponytail off, thought twice, and fastened her honey hair up again. "Beans said something about…"

"About…?"

Cheadle cleared her throat. "One o' clock, Clook, at the conference room." She smiled.

One o' clock came and went.

Cheadle had Beans by her side. The little man, much to his surprise—indeed, pleasant surprise—willingly explained everything to the Zodiac ten. Ging and Pariston seemed to be stuck in their own affairs again, and Cheadle wished that they would stay away forever, especially the Rat. How she hated that Rat.

"ALIENS?" cried everyone in unison.

Cheadle nodded. "Yes, aliens."

"Chairperson Cheadle, I don't want to seem opposed, but… it's unlikely of you to accept such a mission." It was Sacchou.

"Problem?" said Cheadle.

"Uh.. NO! No, no ma'am."

"Good."

"These Double-Star Hunters—" began Saiyu.

"Earlier recordings of the calls I made to them an hour ago," presented Cheadle, and as per her methodological self, she took out a remote control, tapped on a button and a screen slid down for all to see.

But Ghel, Piyon, and the rest of the male Zodiacs had aliens to worry about the least. Botobai was trying not to madly blush every time Cheadle swayed her girly ponytail; Sacchou cleared his throat whenever Cheadle gave him momentary eye contact; Mizaistom shifted uneasily and pretended to pay close attention to the recorded video calls and wished Cheadle didn't call his name lest he made that uncomely sound of swine again; Ginta seemed like any moment he would bolt out the door if only to stop himself from staring at, well, _those_ (Ghel's didn't count; they didn't seem real, anyway); Saiyu looked rather entranced and had rockets in his eyes; Kanzai was more than willing to blow Cheadle a kiss should she look his way. Mizai proceeded to drop a blow on his friend's tiger-tailed head once he learned of Kanzai's intentions.

Clook wanted to hide behind her feathered fans, but at the same time, she wanted to cheer her friend on.

The news of Chairperson Cheadle's surprise transformation was already making the rounds in the Hunter Association Main Office. Clook noted the envious admiration of the women. She perceived the sudden cloudy gazes of devotion on the men. She made it somewhat her personal momentary mission to spy on how word got around quickly, and how everyone drank it in. Someone had snapped a photo of the Chairperson on his phone and was showing it to his co-workers. They nodded in appreciation.

There was excitement in their eyes, and it seems like the same, yet different kind of song were playing in the Association's heart again, ever since Netero—bless his soul—had passed on.

And all because a Dog had turned into a feisty-looking Wolf.

* * *

_Wolf_ in many a sense of the word.

The first hideout was a bar at Grava Road. Cheadle herself had accompanied the investigation crew. She wanted to get to the bottom of things with the least fuss and the least resistance as much as possible.

She entered the bar, and the four humanoid beings she wanted to see were there, crouched at a table, having their drinks which she knew were not ordinary libations. Before any of them could turn heel and run, or pick up any weapon and attack, she had materialized a string of rosary-like beads and swiftly, rivaling lightning, she threw a couple of beads on the floor, struck the air around the four men—who were aliens in disguise, really—and the men were immediately paralyzed.

If any of them had Nen, their Nen would have been shut within themselves.

The suspects looked up at her helplessly. All this had happened in less than two seconds. Cheadle towered over them for a moment.

"You're coming with me," she said, tonelessly, but commandingly, and as quickly as she walked in, she walked out, and the Hunters who were left to gather the captured aliens gaped at her increased methodological ways, but not in her usual manner. There was something more… _spontaneous_ about her methods.

Clook would call it pizzaz. She had once more heard the news of the two-second resistance-less capture of four suspected creatures.

She had also heard of the Imir Avenue situation. And the Rinta Island assault. And the Gorto City mission. Each one had lasted less than five seconds, with Cheadle at the helm. It somehow gave other Hunters less work to do, but seeing her work was fulfilling enough as it was.

In about three days, all seventy suspected "alien beings" were captured and quarantined at Zaiban City in a state-of-the-art facility which Cheadle had managed to come to an agreement with among the Zaiban City military and government. She never mentioned that what they had under their watch were "aliens." One look, one word, and she got what she wanted.

_Wiles_, Clook managed to encode. She added, _Feminine wiles._

Cheadle was a powerful Conjurer, but Clook amusedly wanted to believe that she had manipulative abilities too, ones that remained asleep in her bonnet-covered head until the moment she took it off.

"Well, girl," Clook found the chance to sneak into the Chairperson's abruptly growing busy schedule. She had wanted to give Cheadle a bright-as-a-firefly smile. "Looks like you're having the time of your life, right?"

Cheadle regarded her with her sapphire gaze. She looked as though she hadn't really understood what Clook told her. "Pardon me, Clook?"

"Cheadle, hon," Clook persisted. "We've got the Association buzzing like anything. Chairperson Cheadle kicking ass. Aliens at our doorstep. Rookie Hunters getting a chance at missions. Everyone seems to be having fun. But…" she paused. "_You _are having fun, aren't you?"

Cheadle was silent for a moment. The Dog woman wordlessly adjusted her coat over her lean shoulders, as if to distract her from over-thinking. Cheadle loved to think, but not when it drowned her to pointlessness. She shrugged.

"Just doing my job," she finally replied, and smiled. With precision, she left Clook's side, and with her high-heeled boots (_Cheadle never wore heels higher than an inch_, Clook remembered, _and I think she's on three now_) hitting the floor of the near-empty Hunter Association Office building with an ironically catwalk rhythm, and a paradoxical marching tempo of _one-two-one-two_.

* * *

Cheadle was walking down to the gates of her home when she felt another presence somewhere close by.

She halted in her steps; the presence seemed both a threat and something to brush off at the same time. She decided that she would have more time to worry about it later; she proceeded to enter the house and climb into her room—

Someone had entered her _En_ territory, even if that someone was using _Zetsu_ quite lazily. She acted quickly.

At that moment she was at the pretense of taking off a boot, and then, with a powerful sweep, she flung the footwear to the general direction of the presence; she knew it would not hit her target but she would definitely feel movement of the one evading it.

She felt a shadow in front of her face; she then grabbed it, earning a rather surprised sound from her supposed attacker; within seconds, she had hit her attacker with her bare feet at the back then at the front, hitting the spine and somewhere below the diaphragm, and then again at the throat; she twisted so that her entire weight was on one leg and she used it to lock onto her attacker's neck before flinging him to the ground.

She conjured her Prayer Paralysis beads and flung them at her attacker.

At first she was puzzled. In that short moment, she knew the extent of her attacker's Nen. The rustle she had with the assailant, at the moment, was simply a toss in a child's sand box. It wasn't even something to work up a sweat with, and yet the attacker was as powerful—if not more powerful than she.

She conjured another set of beads and whipped three of them out; they opened like tiny light bulbs in mid-air and that's when she saw who her attacker was.

Her cobalt eyes met cerulean ones. She noted the lithe form, the bright sandy hair, and most of all, the face she so detested in all the world—hell, in all the hundred galaxies now that there seemed to be more than one planet with intelligent life forms in this plane of existence.

"Very good, Cheadle," said the voice. The figure had been visibly paralyzed by her Nen, but for a moment she wondered if his motionlessness was all a pretense.

So…where was that continent she wanted to fling at him again?

"Pariston," she proclaimed the name like poison.

The man smiled his sunshine of a smile. Pariston good-humoredly eyed her from head to foot. Cheadle felt her insides hurl and her face grow warm.

"I like that outfit," said Pariston in his silky, cheerful voice. "Please wear it often."

Cheadle had always been predictable to Pariston, but Pariston didn't exactly expect Cheadle to come to him, raise a fist, and in one, sweeping, all-or-nothing punch, knock the daylights out of him.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay okay, the alien sub-plot is just a ruse to add more spice to Cheadle's reign. Also, the Zombie Apocalypse ploy has been used to death. :PP

I've also made up Cheadle's Nen abilities since the manga hadn't mentioned exactly what she can do, Nen-wise (and that goes for Pariston and the rest of the Zodiacs as well). I've figured that she would most likely be a Conjurer based on her personality as devised by our dear Hisoka. xD

And Pariston is a pervert-voyeur.

I'm kidding.

This story may come in three parts, since three chapters are the maximum number of chapters as per guidelines of the contest. So if there're no lovey-dovey stuff here yet, it's coz they'd most likely go to the second (and most especially) third parts. And hey, let's face it—the girl hates the guy's guts with the heat of a thousand suns. :P

Well, comment and review away, folks! Moe hearts everywhere!

Cheers!

DW-chan :3

P.S. Apologies to those waiting for the _Living Things_ sequel. Chapter one is almost ready. ;) Muwahugs. :P

PPS. The art I used for my story cover isn't mine. ^^


	2. Two: Dream A Little Dream

***HxH Disclaimer***

**Author's Notes:** Hmmm, I have to admit, Cheadle was a tad OOC in the first chapter, but I guess that adds to the odd humor of the situation. ^^;;

Also, many thanks to a guest reader and Age-san for their honest reviews and comments! ^^

Any other Chairman Pair "fans" out there? xD I guess this pair is fairly not very popular yet since the anime is still at the Chimera Ants Arc, and the politics of the Election Arc in the manga may have confused a lot of younger readers (hey, it confused me. Lelelz. :PP).

Anyway, I guess you can say they are still "underappreciated." :P

Let's continue ze story. ^^

* * *

Challenge Accepted  
By: DW-chan

**Two: Dream A Little Dream**

"A defense mechanism?"

Mizaistom looked at Dr. Fiz, suppressing an urge to fiddle. Dr. Fiz was a middle-aged man with glasses so thick they magnified his eyes quite hideously, and Mizai had to keep himself from recoiling. It looked like a dragonfly was staring into his soul.

"Yes, quite," said the doctor, who happens to be a psychologist, part time, to the Hunter Association. But as to state all woes, the presence of such a professional at the disposal of the organization earned only but a dollop of attention. Had the populace known, everyone's state of mind would have been, let's say, much improved.

Mizai, apart from harboring such a thought, added in zest, _Cheadle's got the place in an uproar, and all because of a defense mechanism?_

"Please explain, Dr. Fiz," requested the Ox, aloud this time.

"You see," began Dr. Fiz, "Something may have triggered Chairperson Cheadle's drastic behavior change. I believe she has always been a woman of temperance: simple, and as you've said… conservative?"

The Ox blinked a moment. "That's how I've known her all these years, doctor."

"It's called a compensatory defense mechanism. I believe that she has gone from one extreme to another, at least from what I see are her standards. She may have thought to be lacking in one aspect, so she unconsciously made more amends than she ought to, to make up for what she lacked."

"Well… not to seem like an idiot, doctor, but I don't think I understand," replied Mizai, truthfully.

"In short, she still hasn't found a middle ground between her two behavioral poles. Don't worry, Mr. Mizaistom. It happens to the best of us," intoned the good doctor, his hands clasped calmly on his desk that separated doctor from consultee.

The Ox had an expression on his face that he wished to ask more questions, but Dr. Fiz raised a patient hand.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you more, Mr. Mizaistom. Even we psychologists keep a code of confidentiality. If Chairperson Cheadle had sent you on her behalf, perhaps I could be more liberal about it. But it appears that you've come here out of concern for her."

"Well, yes, it's because some… well, quite a _number_ of us have been rather worried…" Mizai wanted to ease an itch in his brain.

Dr. Fiz's smile was decorous. "Of course, I understand. I believe Chairperson Cheadle had been quite the gentlewoman, but now, she's been causing quite a stir. I appreciate your concern for her, because, well, to be honest," this was when the doctor bent down and in a low voice; he looked to the left, and he looked to the right, and then told the Ox, "You see, it's becoming _my_ concern too."

"Oh," said Mizaistom.

The doctor coughed a generous cough, bent back and graciously straightened his collar.

Mizai sighed. "Well, I appreciate your cooperation, doctor."

Dr. Fiz nodded and smiled.

Mizai cleared his throat, his voice muted as he bent towards the psychologist again. "Doctor, you uh…" he shifted uncomfortably. "You wouldn't mind if I look into psychological report, would you? I mean, you seem to have all our files…"

"Why, I don't mind at all!" chirruped the doctor, and he rummaged for a moment and handed Mizai a thick folder. "You can certainly look at your report."

"Thanks."

Mizai peeked at his report. He grimaced, and part of him wish he hadn't peeked at all.

* * *

It was two o' clock in the morning, and Cheadle Yorkshire was pacing back and forth her rather humble abode's living room (where she had dragged her quarry in). There, sitting on the couch like a mannequin in a middle of a juggle, was Ex-Vice Chairman Pariston Hill, all smiles and with a growing bruise on his left eye. He was still under the power of Cheadle's Prayer Paralysis, but only from neck-down. Cheadle wanted to simply paralyze his face too if only to keep his mouth shut, but she didn't want to freeze that unnerving grin at her, too.

Besides, he had a _lot_ of explaining to do. That is, if he willed to cooperate; Cheadle, however, decided it was easier to convince a blind man to see.

"My, my, such violence," were Pariston's liquescent words when he first blinked back into consciousness. He sounded like a child who just got aced for _show and tell._

Cheadle bristled. "Good talk for someone who's just trespassed into private property," she said sharply, trying to keep her bearings straight. She then took a few steps towards him, but keeping a meter-long distance between her and the amused man. "No honorable man would sneak into a woman's home at an unholy time of night." She paused, and with a needle in her voice, added, "Of course, not that I know you as a paragon of virtue in the first place."

"That punch," said Pariston, as though he hadn't heard the dog-woman speak, "did you practice that especially for me?"

Cheadle held her breath, and counted to ten. "I would appreciate it," she said slowly, "if you answered my question." She gave a tremulously fidgeting glance. "But if you must know, you simply have _no idea_ how much I've wanted to do _that_."

"I'd imagine, dear Cheadle." Pariston looked peaceful as a pea, listening to a bedtime story.

_Count to ten, breathe deeply_. "Please don't you ever call me 'dear' again."

Pariston seemed unnerved. "And if you must know, dear Cheadle," said he, his eyes dancing, earning a look of a million daggers from the woman before him. "I just saved your life."

Cheadle stopped short. "Excuse me?"

Pariston kept on his toothpaste-commercial smile, the light of amusement ever growing in his eyes.

"Your room closet, if you please," said the fair-haired man simply.

Cheadle at once grew an expression of suspicion, and a dash of bewilderment. Her bright blue canine eyes shifted to him, then to the direction of her room, to him, then to her room…

"No games," informed Pariston, good-naturedly. "I promise."

"I'm not especially fond of your promises, Pariston," admitted Cheadle with a passion. "But as a member of the Zodiac twelve, I'd like to believe that there's still a tidbit of honor to salvage from you." With a motion of her hand, she released him from paralysis. Pariston casually stretched, elongating his body like a cat, ironically, for someone known to be a Rat.

"Well, then," said Cheadle. "Show me."

Pariston noted her poise in passing appreciation, which visibly irked the Dog, and with a half-jesting gentleman's bow, he gestured. "After you."

It was late and Cheadle was rather getting tired than irritable, so she shrugged and retraced her steps to her room; Pariston motioned her to stop, which she did, and he went before her, walked to her closet, and swung it open.

A bundle of five bound and gagged half-men, half-monsters tumbled onto her pristine carpeted floor. She jumped back, indeed surprised, but it took a while for it to sink in.

"Don't tell me," she spouted, "that these men were trying to assassinate me."

"Passing marks, passing marks all around, my dear," replied Pariston brightly.

"I told you—"

"Very apt Nen users, too. Although," the blond man looked ponderous, "I heard the Zoldycks were better and cleaner at their work. Whoever hired these thugs knew little about quality."

There came a series of muffled and offended protests from the bundle on the floor.

Cheadle looked exasperated. "And I suppose that you took them out for me."

Pariston clapped once in delight. "Wonderful guess, which is, of course, a fact!" He continued. "In the late and beloved Chairman Netero's time, about two hundred and fifteen assassins tried to put his office to an end. Of course, none of this ever made the news; it was really not much to make a large fuss about."

"I wish I could put this more _gracefully_, Pariston, but how do I know that you yourself didn't send these thugs to get me?"

Pariston feigned hurt. "Why, Chairperson Cheadle, what a felonious accusation! Whatever would I gain from your assassination, my dear? After all, I never really wanted to be Chairman in the first place. I could at least have a slice of gratitude."

The bound and gagged men squirmed like fat worms in their cocoons.

"All right!" Cheadle acquiesced, flinging a thin paw in the air. "It pains me to say this, but 'thank you.' Thanks for the trouble even I don't exactly understand why you'd go through all that trouble. I could very well handle these assassins myself."

More mumbling and heated protests from the defeated bunch.

"I most warm-heartedly accept your thanks, dear Cheadle. Moreover, consider this as a gift," cooed the dapper man, mysteriously.

"A gift?" echoed Cheadle.

"Of apology. I have judged you wrongly about creating a boring organization."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, yes I admit my lack of good judgment, my dear." He theatrically placed a hand to his forehead. "You are doing a wonderful job as Chairperson. A wonderful job."

Cheadle didn't exactly anticipate such an oily concession from her adversary, but she returned, nevertheless, with a, "Well, I suppose I must thank you again for your—" she paused. "_most_ kind words."

Pariston smiled his dazzling elfin smile which can never really fool the Dog. "Ah, Chairperson Cheadle, you do have a charm to you. Now, I must take my leave." He made a gesture with his hand, and with a burst of Nen, the bundle of five goons melted away into a ball of light and shrunk to fit Pariston's hand. Screams of surprise fell into the wake of their shrinking.

"You know you could have just done that in the first place," suggested Cheadle, and her paw flew to the direction of her closet, "rather than mess up my wardrobe."

"Ah yes, wardrobe," trilled Pariston, and once more Cheadle's words fell to seemingly deaf ears again. "I do like the stunning new look you have on, my dear."

"For the last time—"

"Ah, but if only such raiment came with the most endearing adornment of all."

Cheadle just wanted to fling her paws up in defeat. _Will this man ever shut up?_ "And what would that be, Pariston?"

The man leisurely strolled out her bedroom door, then looked back at her with his pixiedust presence. "A smile."

He glided away.

Cheadle wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Oh," concluded Pariston, stopping on his tracks. "Don't worry about the carpets, dear Cheadle. You'll have shiny new ones in the morning. I'll see to that."

But before Cheadle could say a _that won't be necessary_, the man seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

All was quiet in her humble abode once more. The crickets chirped incessantly and everything else was silence that even one could hear the stars blaze in the sky.

Cheadle, like an incensed teenager, threw herself, back first, onto her mattress. The very reason why she had decided to change her game as Chairperson was to avoid ever seeing her emissary again, at least not after a very, very long time; but lo and behold, he simply stepped into her door anyway, literally, uninvited. She stared up at her room's ceiling for a moment before mumbling, "This is _not_ the best day ever."

* * *

"Pariston did _what?!"_ cried Piyon, her bunny ears bouncing in distress. She twisted her fingers uncomfortable around her cell phone. "Ewwww, that pervert!"

"I'll make sure venom gets into his drinks next time," drawled Ghel, her Snake arm leisurely giving a hiss.

"Now, girls, no need for alarm," clucked Clook, casually tapping her fan over her knee. "Cheadle's unhurt and that's all that matters, right?"

"It matters," Ghel said pointedly, "whenever that Rat is involved."

"Well, he did say that he was just 'saving her life.'" Clook made the "quote unquote" movement with her fingers. Piyon shook her head.

"Pariston's lucky that Cheadle had mercy enough to leave his liver intact," said the Rabbit with a pout, but of course, she may be joking (and jokes are half-meant).

Cheadle walked in, still in her bouncy, fiery ponytail, still free from her huge round spectacles, but there was something new—or rather, old—oh well, even the author is confused.

She was wearing a skirt long enough to grace the floor, and only the tips of her heeled boots peered out of the hem.

"Oh darling!" cried out Clook. "What happened to _La Femme Fatale_?"

Cheadle failed to hide a frown. "I'm saving that for casual Fridays." She proceeded to walk to her office, but before then, she addressed the Chicken. "Oh Clook, please, gossipmonger-ing?" She made a motion of zipping her mouth; it looked odd because she had a straight face. "Don't."

Clook, Piyon, and Ghel followed her retreating form, and when the Chairperson's Office door was closed, they huddled once more.

"I live for gossip," fiercely whispered Ghel, her slit-eyes beaming.

"What else did Cheadle tell you?" Piyon asked, springing like a child, or rather, like the Rabbit she was.

"Well, uh, she didn't exactly tell me anything, girls," admitted Clook. "I've got a nice network going on, see. I can always trust my pretties."

The two other girls thought for a while.

"Oh, your birds!" volunteered Piyon.

"Yes, my pretties," chirped Clook.

"That's rather handy," remarked Ghel, elegantly taking a sip from her sparkling juice. "You're getting the best news in the morning than ninety-nine percent of the population, Clook."

"Oh, shucks, woman, I don't use and abuse. It was urgent! You know how Cheadle dislikes the Rat."

"Don't we all," gurgled Piyon.

"I don't suppose," Ghel thought, "the Rat might be up to no good again?"

"God knows!" replied Clook. "You think he's up to no good, when he isn't. You think he's finally redeemed, when really, he's not."

"Pain in the ass," remarked Piyon, unfeminine-like.

"In any case, girls, my pretties are always on standby whenever I need them."

"Is anyone going to comment how worried she is that someone actually tried to assassinate the Chaiperson?"

"Oh pshaw," Clook tapped Ghel with her fan. "We all know that Cheadle could take down an army if she wanted to!"

"That's not entirely true! We're all still mortal, you know!"

"I think we should worry about the Rat while we still can," offered Piyon rather helpfully.

"Bunny baby's always makes the best suggestions. Lighten up, Ghel! Cheadle will be all right." She swallowed hard. _I hope_, she added, in her mind.

Just then, Cheadle emerged from her office once more, and Beans was with her, carrying a stack that drowned his little form into oblivion. This caught the attention of the three Zodiac women instantly.

"Oh my gosh," whispered Clook. "I think we're interrogating the prisoners."

"The assassins?"

Clook patted Piyon with her fan spiritedly. "No, silly Rabbit, the aliens!"

"Do you really believe in all that?" asked the skeptical Snake.

"We're about to find out," drawled Clook, and just as she was done with her words, Chairperson Cheadle walked up to the female Zodiacs.

"Seventy suspects, seventy files," she breathed. She took a load off poor little faithful Beans' shoulders, and handed a bundle of folders to each girl. "There's ten of us present in the Zodiac so far, but we'll work in pairs. So, unless any of you have any questions, comments, and violent reactions, are you coming with me?"

The three Zodiac girls looked at each other.

"Hell yes!" they cried, and in a flurry of feathers, scales, and furry ears, the four Zodiac women filed out, perhaps, to also fetch the Zodiac men—

"Kindly make that eleven," came a voice from behind them.

Clook, Piyon, and Ghel (almost), tripped over in surprise. Cheadle, not the least perturbed with the commotion, turned to check on her fallen comrades. She was about to open her mouth when she realized that she recognized the voice.

_Security, please escort this man downstairs_, was what her unprofessional self really wanted to say. Instead, she said, addressing the voice. "Why, very timely of you to show up, Pariston."

"Indeed," said the man, in a voice as rich as alabaster cream. "It would sadden me greatly if I am to be left out of one of the most intriguing incidents in Hunter history." He gracefully held a hand to his chest. "I would gladly be of service to our Chairperson."

Cheadle didn't want to argue and create a scene in front of her subordinates, even when most of them still glanced at her with adoring eyes. "Very well," she acceded.

The three Zodiac females looked at her with round eyes, a silent _What the HELL are you doing? _brimming in their expressions.

_Not now,_ came Cheadle's own hard expression towards her female comrades.

"Here," she gave Pariston a set of files, without giving him as much as a miniscule glance.

"Much obliged!" said Pariston in his honey-tongue. Cheadle raised an eyebrow. At least, when among the public, he refrained from calling her the much detested _dear_. Then again, what could really stop him from doing so if he wanted to?

"How's the eye?" she murmured, still looking straight ahead, as Pariston had the gall, or rather, the confidence, to walk abreast with her.

"I'm most touched by the concern!" cried saccharine marmalade, dabbing the portion where the bruise was, except that the bruise was long gone.

"That wasn't concern. That was a question," retorted bitter orange peel.

Pariston clicked his tongue. "Such tact! But if you must know, Chairperson Cheadle, I'll live."

"Oh," said Cheadle. "Too bad." She pattered ahead of him.

Pariston halted a few steps behind, and somewhere in his sapphire-blue gaze was a slowly intensifying fire.

* * *

Walking through a tunnel, basked under slits of light, the Zodiac Eleven filed into the holding facility of the seventy supposed alien life forms, still in their human guises. Military men, employees of the hold, and Hunters who had stood watch for a few days all greeted the Chairperson with a lively twinkle in their eye. Only a few shuddered.

"If anyone in this wide world wants to get rid of the Zodiacs," muttered Saiyu to Kanzai, "now's the perfect time."

"Oh shut it," grumbled the Tiger. "And I'm sure we'll have Ging weeping over our cold dead bodies."

"Hmph."

Many mazes and security codes later, they finally arrived at the main cell. Lupe Highland was there, and he greeted Cheadle with a small nod of his head.

"Ain't got nothing from them," he reported, "about the eighteen missing Hunters."

"Thank you, Mr. Highland," acknowledged the petite dog-woman. The said Hunter seemed a tad startled; perhaps he was one of the few who had not seen Cheadle out of her nun-ish attire and into clothes that accentuated a little more of the feminine form. Lupe blinked for a moment, and then, as politely as he could, leaned over to whisper into Cheadle's ear.

"It's right and good that you're here, Chairperson," informed Lupe. "They won't be talkin' much; says they'd speak to you, once you're here."

Cheadle acknowledged the Lost Hunter's words again, with a tiny nod.

"If you'll excuse me," Lupe said finally, a little distracted and a little in a hurry, and with a quick, courteous wave to the rest of the Zodiacs, shuffled out of the main cell's receiving room like a crouching soldier.

Cheadle did a turn-about so she faced her interrogation team.

"Change of plans," she announced with a raise of her hand. "It appears that they would want to converse with me first before anyone else. I don't want any further hostilities, and I trust that they won't do me any harm. I'll go alone."

She heard low grumbles of displeased Zodiacs who "won't get into the fun right away" as she turned around once more, and she mightily tried her best to ignore them. Another Hunter—a Rookie, surprisingly—was about to escort her as far as the entrance to the first unit of the main cell, when Pariston abruptly grabbed her by the hand.

"How dare you!" she hissed, more in her great surprise, as she turned to him. "What do you want _now_, Pariston?"

"My dear," said Pariston in a disarmingly low voice. "Allow me to accompany you."

"There must be part of the word 'alone' which you didn't understand. These beings want to talk to _me_ first."

Then, a voice called out from within the cell's first unit, which had the entrance very much like a gargantuan vault. "It's all right." It sounded like an old man's voice, gentle, wise, and full. "The young man can go with you, Chairperson Cheadle."

Cheadle felt her face grow hot. Whoever the person behind the vault door did not only hear her snappy conversation with Pariston, but knew that the pest of a man was clearly much intent in going with her.

"Right," she said to Pariston, who had the most excruciatingly triumphant smile on his face. "So, you're coming with me."

She stepped into the first unit cell, and there, sitting on a solitary cushioned stool at the center of the room, was an old man—dark-skinned, salt-and-pepper hair, and a wrinkled face that seemed wiser than his years. He had the deepest, clearest, most astonishing brown eyes she had seen on an aging fellow. This man looked definitely, and yet not definitely human.

The old man smiled. It was sincere.

Cheadle swallowed hard. She had a very good memory, but she did not exactly recall if she was the one who arrested the old man. She was certain that she was seeing him for the first time. Cheadle failed to keep her composure when she started rummaging through the files she had in her arms.

"It's the fifth folder from the top, young lady," said the old man, politely.

Cheadle suspiciously looked up from her work. It was apparent that these beings had extrasensory abilities. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pariston calmly look at the elderly figure with bright baby blue eyes, seemingly fascinated, more files tucked in hand.

Cheadle fished the fifth folder. She flipped it open.

"Manu Graives," she read aloud.

The old man smiled wider. He raised both his arms in acknowledgement. "That's me," he pronounced heartily.

Indeed, it was. The report had the man's photograph, his "address on Earth," his family, and friends who could also be possibly just like him.

"A grade school teacher," she read aloud some more, her eyes trying to adjust to the near-infinite golden sky within Manu Graives' eyes.

"Yes, yes, and I love my students, every single one, bless their hearts." Manu smiled, and there was nothing threatening about his wide toothy smile; soft, like the placid surface of a lake in June. It shone as the opposite of Pariston's garish pixiedust grins.

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Graives," replied Cheadle; she was surprised with her own sincerity.

But Manu Graives was scrutinizing her with his friendly eyes, squinting a little as if reading her thoughts, or so imagined the canine-like woman. For a moment she broke eye contact. "Nothing to worry about, Chairperson Yorkshire," said Manu cheerily, at length. He then extended a hand. "I believe this is how most of you greet each other hello?"

"Yes, I believe so," said Cheadle in slight surprise, and she took Manu's hand and gave it a firm shake. Manu then turned to Pariston; "Mr. Hill," said Manu with his friendly, old man smile, and Cheadle thought she saw Pariston blink a tiny moment's surprise at Manu's very familiar attitude.

"A pleasure," expressed a very amused Pariston, eyes shining with a million sea-shards.

When formalities were exchanged, and Manu Graives had resumed his seat in his tranquil manner, Cheadle found her voice. She recently discovered that she was beginning to want something for her nerves.

"Mr. Graives, I won't be beating around the bush," she declared.

"To be sure," replied Manu in good spirits.

"My informants and reports say "aliens." I see a human being before me."

"We've come to love our earthly skins, Chairperson Cheadle," Manu conveyed. "And if you must know, we've been living on dear planet Earth for nearly a century, and we remained undetected, until now."

"Planet Earth is your home," said Cheadle.

"Earth is our home," agreed Manu.

"What planet were you from?"

"It no longer exists," voiced Manu, as if referring to an old stain at the back of his mind.

Pariston was leaning towards her. "The _last of our kind_ ploy," he whispered. Cheadle resisted the urge to spray a bit of sanitizer on where his breath had just lain on her.

Manu was looking at Pariston with patient, ancient eyes. "Mr. Hill, you are right, we seventy are the last of our kind, but it is far from a ploy."

Pariston looked a mite censured. Cheadle found warm victory and wanted to thank Manu secretly, which, of course, the alien man might have known already…

"Then, Mr. Graives, please show us," Pariston intoned silkily, but his tone was surprisingly friendly as well, "your true alien form, if it pleases you."

Manu seemed to frown a little. "Well, it pleases me little," he truthfully revealed, "but if it must be done…"

Cheadle held her breath. She tried to calculate the situation as fast as she could, but all the answers led to one thing: Manu Graives was no threat. At least, she added, as of now.

All of a sudden, beams of light, little by little, began to break through Manu's dark skin, like sunshine breaking through stone. Three rays, four rays, five rays, pure energy, laser-like, but not burning the atmosphere. In fact, the air slightly tingled, as though it were acknowledging a long-time friend.

In a few seconds, there stood—no, floated—before them was a being of pure light, but in a form of a man; blazing white-yellow, with tendrils of energy swirling into itself like liquid electricity. Cheadle looked at the face of the figure made of light and that's where she saw two deep, crystal clear brown orbs looking at her, as huge as tennis balls—the being's eyes.

"I must admit," mewled the Rat. "That this is quite unbelievable."

"Yes," Cheadle found herself saying, too entranced at the sight.

They have a real live alien being in the room with them right now, went Cheadle's mind, and the CCTV was on, and everyone who had access to the feed must be watching them, recording every second that ticked by, every shard of evidence that documented the fact that Manu Graives had transformed into a man made out of the sun.

The folders from her hands fell; she was bending to retrieve them but Pariston had beaten her to them. With his trademark smile, he handed her the stack; she gave a sniff, and took the folders from his fingers.

_I believe you've seen all that there is to see_, came a voice from nowhere and everywhere.

This startled Cheadle, her lovely little ponytail bobbing. "Are you hearing this?" she was not sure if she wanted to address Pariston, but he was the only one with her apart from the being of light.

"Yes," returned Pariston. "In my mind."

And just as quickly as Manu Graives transformed, he reverted back to his human self; the great light was extinguished, and there was old man Manu again, with his friendly grade school teacher eyes, clear as champagne pools.

"You're their leader," stated Cheadle, in half-jitters, as soon as Manu completely turned into his dark-skinned human self once more.

"You can call me that," Manu said. "But we're free people. I only happen to be one of the oldest among us."

"Which is?"

"Seven hundred and fifty two years old."

"Mr. Graives," continued the ruffled Chairperson; if she had her glasses at that moment, they would have teetered askew from her dog-like nose. "So you've been here a century, and you've somehow co-existed with us for a time. But many renowned Hunters raised the red flag on you and your people. I have reports here—"

"Please, show us," said Manu. Cheadle wondered why he was genuinely interested. Perhaps their semblance of psychic abilities had limitations, after all.

"There are some among you," she began, "who can, to an extent, bend space and time. Some among you as well who can filter bad memories from someone's head, or bring people back from the dead as long as the body remained intact and fresh within five hours." She read his file. "And you, Manu Graives, you are one among those who can allow people to see their future through dreams."

She looked up at the alien being. Manu was placid as ever, ancient eyes soft and blinking.

"And in addition, you all seem to possess some psychic abilities. And you can also communicate through telepathy."

"Only when in our alien form, as you call it," admitted Manu, his large, wrinkled hands clasped in front of him.

Pariston was observing the canine woman, observing her closely. She talked with a passion. She seemed to be bubbling with a new kind of excitement. Who wouldn't be excited at all? It wasn't everyday when one can converse to a being of light, and know that that person was a being of light. Pariston smiled his secret smile.

"Mr. Graives," yapped the lovely Chairperson Cheadle, and she continued on…

_She's lovely, isn't she_— said a voice in his head.

Pariston started. He decided to play along. _I thought you can only communicate telepathically in alien form? _he talked to the voice with his mind.

_Yes_, said Manu to his mind, _but remnants of the telepathic signal are still accessible a few minutes after reverting to human form._

_I see…  
_

_So, lovely?_

_Why are you bringing this up, kind sir?_

A good-natured laugh lightly shook his cranium. _You thought you knew her_, continued Manu's voice, _but everything changed one day. You don't know all of Cheadle Yorkshire. You want to get to know her, really get to know her…_

_Playing matchmaker, are we, Mr. Graives?_

_Ah, no, not really, young man. I was not suggesting matchmaking, but it seemed like you made that suggestion yourself._

Pariston wished Cheadle had not seen him turn a light lobster pink. He tried to brush a seeming filthiness in the air away, but in vain…

Cheadle was still speaking, her eyes alight but determined. "Mr. Graives," she said (we repeat from last time), "it's said that only a few, trusted people know of your abilities. Now, none of them have betrayed you; our Hunters only seem to be efficient. They have brought this matter to our attention: only a few humans know of your people's abilities. A group of thirty, yes, that's all right. You're a family. But a group of three hundred, then three thousand—you see… bending time and space, erasing memories, bringing people back to life, augury dreams…" She pressed on. "Humans _can_ have those abilities. They are discovered. They are—"

"Abused," finished Manu Graives.

"_Exploited_ is more of the word I'm looking for," said Cheadle, who was smiling affably. "And it will be a mutual exploitation before we know it. Sure, we can do what you can do but only to some extent. But you are infinitely much better, and…" her brows twitched, "you're doing it for free."

"We never charge for latent gifts, my child," said Manu Graives. Cheadle was taken aback, somewhat. No one, not even her parents, addressed her as such before.

"Yes, but what you're doing is potentially dangerous."

"We never meant any harm."

Cheadle's eyes began to soften; her lower lip was beginning to tremble as well.

"We have co-existed for a century long. We will continue to co-exist for centuries to come," conveyed the dark-skinned man in his gentle, preacher-ly voice.

"I—I was rough on some of you—"

"Yes, Chairperson Cheadle. You were only doing your job." Manu Graives smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes; for a moment he looked comical, like a friendly old toad, but a very wise and friendly old toad.

Cheadle Yorkshire seemed lost in a trance. Pariston blinked in feigned nonchalance, but he was rather curious with how much she had lost herself in her thoughts.

_She's a respectable young lady, Mr. Hill,_ came Manu's voice in his head again. _Now this is my last minute of telepathy so I'll be giving you some age-old words of advice. Don't break a good girl's heart._

And Manu's voice was gone from his head.

Manu was regarding him with his placid gaze, and Pariston smiled, placing a hand, with the flow of dramatics, to his chin.

Manu then returned his full and impartial attention to the dog-like woman. "Don't worry, Chairperson. We can protect ourselves. Thank you for relaying your concerns to us. We are now in full awareness of those concerns."

"You are then requesting me," attempted Cheadle, "to release you all, return you to your respective homes, and leave you be for the centuries to come?"

"Yes on the first two points, young lady," said Manu. "But it would be a shame if gentlepeople like yourself won't pay us a visit some time. We'll have proper cakes and tea for you. No turpentine, that's a guarantee—"

"Turpentine?" inquired a mildly inquisitive Pariston.

"They drink it," informed Cheadle, without looking at her addressee—although she could feel the heat of Pariston's smile at her back.

"Ah," said Pariston. "Charming bunch."

"That's a very generous offer," returned Cheadle to Manu Graives in all genuineness. "Yes, I might be dropping by some time, Mr. Graives. How's Mrs. Graives?"

"She's fine." Manu pointed with a thumb at his back. "She's actually beginning to like Unit Four. She says it's much cleaner than back at home. Smells a good deal of Febreeze too. She likes the smell of Febreeze."

"Oh," said Cheadle, not really knowing what else to say.

"I can also guarantee you, Chairperson Cheadle," Manu went on, "that we have been treated well in our stay here. No one hurt, no one mistreated, not even a shout or a cruel prod. They say it was your orders for us to come to no harm. We are much indebted."

Cheadle began to verily turn a shade of poppy red. "Well, I, uh… just doing my job, I suppose."

"These people are beginning to adore you, young lady," admonished Manu Graives, much to Cheadle's slight embarrassment (and perhaps, annoyance—Pariston was just right behind her, after all, and he could hear everything). "They've adored you before, and they're adoring you now. Change is good, but change only when you need it."

"Oh, that—" How much exactly did this nice-like old man know about her?

"And one more thing, if you don't mind," added the kindly old Manu. "I've given you a dream tonight. Don't worry, it's not a scary future; at least I'm hoping it isn't." He smiled with good humor. "Take it as a token of my gratitude on behalf of my people."

Cheadle seemed like she was shaking, but she was not sure herself if it was excitement or worry. "You're welcome, Mr. Graives, and we thank you as well for understanding our stand on the matter."

Manu waved a hand. "Nothing doing!"

Cheadle imagined that she was walking in a tunnel within a tunnel within a tunnel, and she felt slightly claustrophobic as she passed through the mazes out of the holding facility once more. She tottered. Pariston was at her side, and he caught her.

"Dazed?" smiled the blond haired man.

Cheadle was not sure if she was herself. Then again, she had thought that she wasn't really herself for the past few days. There was something of a muddle in her brain. "Aliens," she mumbled, like a sleepy little child.

"You're tired, my dear Cheadle," said Pariston, quite indulgently.

_That_ seemed to wake Cheadle up. She straightened and weaseled away from his hold. "Kindly not touch me again, Pariston." She trudged on.

As expected, there was a commotion among the Zodiacs when they learned that the planned interrogation would no longer take place.

"And I wanted to ask how the girls are in their home planet too," bemoaned Kanzai in his gruff voice.

They all looked at him strangely.

"What?"

"Cheadle, why d'you had all the fun, dammit! Even that bastard Pariston—"

"CCTV camera number eight," pronounced Cheadle; she addressed the mish-mash bunch of Zodiacs before her with a certain fondness. "What happens in Zaiban, stays in Zaiban. Never speak again of what you'll see, and well… if you like, you can shake their hands as we escort them out of the facility."

"Their?" asked Mizai (he still hadn't told her of his visit to Dr. Fiz. It would seem like he was stalking her, you see). "You're letting them go?"

"With every hair on their heads intact."

"But they're aliens."

"Yes, yes."

"Did they speak gobbledygook?"

"Camera number eight at the security room," she ordered, rather darkly, "_now_."

"Yes ma'am!"

And they all marched in as much orderly fashion as they can manage to where Cheadle instructed them to go, but Pariston stayed.

"Sweet dreams, my dear Cheadle," was all he said, as he waved, and stepped into the darkness.

Cheadle was not sure if she should go after him and give his other eye the same glorious treatment.

* * *

Cheadle had tried to stay awake as long as she could, but all in vain. She had managed forty minutes awake with a thriller novel on her lap, but then her eyes began to flutter. At the back of her mind, she saw a ball of white light, now shifting to human form, and then there were eyes, golden-brown, gentle and friendly and wise.

There was a house, not too huge, not too small, and it had a nice, picket fence; it was the dream house of most little girls, and as a little girl, she had wanted a house with a picket fence. It was charmingly quaint that way.

There was a family there, in their lovely garden, having a picnic lunch. The weather was fine, the wind was cool, and the leaves were lush and green.

There was a little girl, a toddler baby, holding a flower, a beautiful red peony. She had just learned how to walk, and she was tottering with her plump, stubby legs towards a feminine figure—the baby's mother, it looked like. The woman's hair was golden-brown, and it was shadowing her face…

No wait, the woman was really her! It was—or will be—Cheadle some years from now, the future Cheadle, and she will have a baby girl, a wonderful, beautiful baby girl.

_Dada_, said the toddler. She addressed the lanky man beside her mother, and the man had his arms tenderly wrapped around his wife, and he had golden hair, yellow like sunflowers blinking in the sun.

Wait a minute…

There was something oddly familiar about the man. The way he moved, the way his arms moved, and then the way he spoke—well, Cheadle couldn't really hear him speak, even when she had heard the little girl speak, because maybe his words were lost in the wind, there was a pinwheel on the ground and it was brimming with colors, bright yellow, green, blue, orange…

The man looked up.

_Dada_, said the girl again, throwing her chubby arms around his neck.

Cheadle will have a baby girl, and she will have a husband.

And that husband will be Pariston Hill—

Four o' clock in the morning, and Chairperson Cheadle woke up with a start. Her eyes were wide and she surveyed her surroundings—she was in her room, under her covers, and she could hear her old-fashioned wall clock ticking, and she was shivering.

She felt a sudden urge to consult with Dr. Fiz at this lovely time of dawn.

She never really swore, not aloud, and not when she can help it.

"Shit," she said.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the language, but the rating is "T," and while most young adult books don't publish with potty language in it, there may be some exceptions. Only I haven't read them yet. Haha. But for Cheadle to say "dung" instead would sound even sillier. I mean, who says the dumb word "dung" when she just learned that she'll be married to an a**hole? x3 At least, in Cheadle's humble opinion, as per manga. xPPP

I'm not getting a lot on hits for this one, since this is a relatively new pair, but send those reviews and comments in, nonetheless! Much obliged. ^^ I do plan to finish some more entries before the June 20 deadline, and this will be one of them. ^^

Cheers!

DW-chan :3


	3. Three: Second Glances

***HxH Disclaimer***

**Author's Notes:** Gosh schoolwork piled up so badly that I needed to cheat in some time to finish my story. xD This will probably be a buzzer beater if I'm lucky; whether or not this makes it in time for the Hetero Story Contest deadline, I'll finish this anyway. xD

I just hope it won't seem too rushed. I had the basic outline of the chapter in my head before I started typing away.

Of course, thanks to those who have read and reviewed! :D My apologies if I hadn't been able to reply to your reviews. Dx I have poor time management skills. Aharharhar.

So here it is, the third and final chapter of this here little three-shot. :PP Enjoy, luvs!

* * *

Challenge Accepted  
By: DW-chan

**Three: Second Glances**

Cheadle sniffed the fresh tea Manu Graives' wife had prepared for her when she decided to drop the Graives a visit, in full consideration of their invitation back at the containment center. She quite appreciated the aroma of the tea and the hospitality. Indeed, Mrs. Graives had prepared tiny tea-time feast: some berry cakes, butterscotch scones and mint tea. There was also a cold pitcher of lemonade in case the Chaiperson fancied herself a glass. She felt rather at home.

In the suspicion that Dr. Fiz might simply send her home with a prescription called "a day off and half a sleeping pill," Cheadle ascertained to contact the psychologist for a proper appointment another day, when she had her bearings straight. She wouldn't want to puzzle the good doctor with her pronunciations of dreaming about the future—and how can a nightmare possibly come true? Of all the nightmares to dream about on the employed date Manu Graives was to send her an augury dream!

Other than that, she liked Manu Graives' silent wisdom, for all he wasn't human. The old man at once knew that Cheadle had come to him to discuss her "nightmare," so they took their respective seats by the veranda overlooking a strawberry field of the Graives' home some miles away from the city. She had said she was "on official and urgent business." Calming the Chaiperson's nerves was urgent business, of course.

"Well, Chairperson Yorkshire," began the human-guised alien, his brown eyes as resplendent as ever.

"Please, call me Cheadle," returned the dog-woman. "It would be dear to me if you would."

Manu Graives smiled his kind smile. "We don't choose the dreams that visit the recipients on the night we give them. There's huge energy out there that picks the strongest fiber from a thousand other possible futures, and you see it in the form of a dream, is all."

"Strongest?" Cheadle felt a knot in her throat.

"Yes, the most probable," Manu Graives replied, blinking, calmly taking a sip from his turpentine cocktail. Cheadle tried hard to hide a grimace.

"Is…"

"…there a way to change it? Why, Cheadle, you are most welcome to try!" But there was the sonorous quality in Manu's voice that simply showcased the fact that her attempts to alter her "most probable" future would be futile. Cheadle then blinked. If her life were a movie reel, she'd grab it from the projector, the screen going haywire as she tore the reel to shreds, flinging the remnants to the winds as she cackled her victory—

"Cheadle," Manu's voice pierced through her uncharacteristic little fantasy, "I won't ask you why you detest young Mr. Hill so much; but," this was when the old man produced his slyest of smiles, "if Mr. Hill decides to pursue you, how do you plan to evade that?"

Cheadle froze in the middle of plucking a piece of berry cake. At that moment she wanted to resort to a semblance of emotional eating. She had cakes, she had scones, she had lemonade and perhaps the hot chocolate Mrs. Graives was piping at the stove would be served to the table as well…

"NO." She took a deep breath. "It's a no! Of course it's a no, Mr. Graives! I'm sure that Rat is clever enough to know the difference between a 'yes' and a 'no!'"

Manu Graives continued to look at her kindly, but not patronizingly (in fact, he seemed happily interested), like a grandfather lending an ear to a distressed granddaughter about the woes of love, lies, and everything in between.

"Pariston has traps everywhere! He's set them in a fine array. I've fallen into one of those traps and now I have… what do you call this… _fanboys _(she inwardly rolled her eyes with how Clook suggested the word to her) _and_ fangirls following me as though I were some movie star! I wanted change and now that I have it, I just… don't know what to do with it…"

Manu Graives waited patiently until Cheadle was done sending the steam off the roof. Mrs. Graives arrived with a pot. "Hot chocolate, Cheadle?" she cooed.

"Yes, please," prompted Cheadle. Chocolate always soothed a woman's soul.

The old man reached out and placed a dark leathery hand on Cheadle's paw-like fingers. "You'll be fine," he said, fondly, giving her hand a pat.

Cheadle felt at loss. "But—" she sputtered.

"Cheadle, darling, I've had young people come to me asking about their dreams especially when it came to marriage. But sweeting," said Mrs. Graives, taking her place in the conversation like a jolly grandma recalling tales of her youth as she poured the chocolate daintily. It appeared that Mrs. Graives had the same ability has her husband's. "I always tell them one thing: 'enjoy the ride.'" She looked into Cheadle's sapphire eyes, which Cheadle opened wide at the elderly woman's words. "You'll see that that's the best advice you'll ever get in a while." Mrs. Graives smiled.

"I—"

Her phone beeped.

"I'm sorry; if you don't mind, I'll have to take this message," she told the Graives apologetically.

"Not at all," Manu said, astounding brown eyes dancing.

She checked her cell phone. She clicked on the unopened message:

_I've been informed by Beans that you have paid a visit to the Graives. May I follow and pick you up?_

It was polite and simple, and straightforward.

It was Pariston.

His message was punctuated by a sparkle-star _emoji_.

She wanted to dunk her cell phone to the netherworlds.

She then faced the Graives, who provided her with anticipating smiles. "Speaking of the devil _himself_," Cheadle said in strained sweetness, not at all amused, pleased, nor happy.

"Like I said, sweeting, enjoy the ride," came Mrs. Graives delighted riposte.

"Excuse me, I'll have to get back to this message," Cheadle said, still wearing her strained smile.

_NO_, she typed in, and sent her reply.

Her phone then rang.

"Excuse me again," Cheadle said, not certain how to decipher the adoring looks on the Graives' faces. Manu gestured that she may take her call, so the dog-woman, still in her ponytail, but she had re-worn her glasses, stepped further into the veranda and close to the strawberry fields. The air was crisp and lovely. She should be a good mood, but well, she wasn't.

"What do you want?" she nearly growled into the receiver, knowing full well who was on the other line.

"Why, my dear Cheadle, I thought you'd never pick up!" Pariston's syrup of a voice grated her ears.

"Well, I _have_, are you happy now, so answer my question—"

"I'm just on my way to the Graives' driveway. If you'd look to your left, that would be my car—"

"You're a creep, you know that, Pariston? I just sent you a 'NO', all-caps, mind you, so now you can drive off—"

"Ah, it appears that Mrs. Graives has come to greet me at the door! I shall see you in a bit, my dear."

"DON'T YOU—"

Pariston had hung up. Sure enough, she could hear from a distance the commotion the Graives were pouring on their new visitor. _Welcome to our home, Mr. Hill!_ came Manu's calmly thrilled voice. The Graives were not making her evasion any easier. In fact, they seemed to be doing _quite_ the opposite.

Besides, added Cheadle to her grumbling thoughts, who would want to get married to a buffoon who barely listens especially when you want him out of your sight…?

"Cheadle," came Pariston's voice from behind her; the said owner of the name loathed to turn around and regard the voice but some bee at the back of her mind had her turn against her will. It wasn't any form of Nen. It was her curiosity getting the best of her, or so Cheadle would like to believe.

He was still his dapper self, well-groomed, and his cologne wafted with the sweet strawberry smells in the afternoon air; he looked boyish and _nice_ and he was holding a bouquet of flowers so huge that it nearly covered half of his face and drowned half his arm.

Cheadle didn't know what to make of the warmth that threatened to creep to her cheeks. "You're just so full of rubbish, Pariston," she firmly stated, glaring a quarter of a dagger his way.

"Oh, what a word to say to these pretty lilies, daffodils, and begonias!" He tipped his head, gentlemanly enough to send Cheadle's brow skyrocketing to the last planet of the solar system. "These aren't much, they're country-bred beauties, but you've always had that sweet simplicity in you—"

"I wanted to be nice, Pariston, since you did drive some miles to get to where I am, but my apologies if all I can muster is a 'go away.'"

Pariston blinked, but he seemed unperturbed. _The nerve of this man_, Cheadle boiled inside, but then the flowers swayed in their comfortable little bundle. How did Pariston know that she liked country-bred blossoms?

Ah, she remembered, she had Beans place some in her office desk vase once in a while, to counter the square-ishness of the room. Pariston must have noticed them when he inquired about her from the little legume man. She flapped the thoughts away from her head. She was giving him too much credit. The man was anything but thoughtful.

And yet as he stood there…

"Beans was supposed to send a chauffeur to pick you up at five, but I gave the poor fellow a leave and decided to take his stead. It's a three hours' drive from here to the city. Perhaps, a nice dinner at the _Café_ _Du Chat_ will lift your spirits up?"

Cheadle had her hands to her sides. Pariston was simply ignoring her outbursts. She tried to remain composed and professional, but Pariston was here in apparent non-professional matters; she would have to down another mug of Mrs. Graives' fine hot chocolate. She remained silent.

"Please, Cheadle," said Pariston simply, warmly, and in the rarest of times, did not address her with the more than annoying _my dear_.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Graives by the veranda balcony, looking like two wistful grandparents witnessing their little girl's first dance on her debut. She inwardly shook her head. The universe was conspiring against her and for that wretched dream to come true.

_Well, let's see where it takes this_, she thought.

"Very well," said Cheadle firmly, trying to keep her expression unreadable. "But I want you to keep a certain distance from me, do you understand?"

Pariston seemed overjoyed; rainbows seem to have accompanied the disco lights which seemed to follow him wherever he went. "I would be pleasurable company, Cheadle," he drawled; he might as well have curtseyed as he pronounced the words.

"Oh, I'm sure," returned Cheadle, not in subtle sardonicism, and not quite believing that she was giving in to what fate had doomed for her to bear.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Pariston, all smiles, all sparkles, and quite boyishly again. Cheadle tried to tinker her way into the man's intentions, and found her eyes wandering to Manu Graives. The elderly man, after all, had the penchant to read minds if he wished. Manu's honey-brown eyes smiled with his smile. He nodded.

Cheadle swallowed the lump in her throat. So Pariston's intentions were… pure? She couldn't wrap her sanity around it. The words _Pariston_ and _pure_ in one sentence was the greatest paradox the world has ever known.

"Tut-tut, come on," clapped Mrs. Graives; she had a huge basket with her. "I wrapped up some cakes for you, darling, and for Mr. Hill." It almost seemed that she was going to reach out and pinch the man's cheek. "I heard 'dinner' somewhere in that fine conversation, if you don't mind me overhearing." She was some jolly woman, this Mrs. Graives. "If you don't leave now, you'll be late for your date, hmm, my pumpkins?"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, it's _not_ a date, Mrs. Graives—" Cheadle was in the middle of high protestation when the plump dark-skinned woman took the flowers from Pariston's grasp to hand them to Cheadle, which Cheadle took in automation, then the basket of cakes found their way to Pariston's grasp.

"Goodbye, darlings, we'll see you again some time," cried Mrs. Graives. Her husband was observing the little scene with placid zest. When they were out the gate, Manu Graives lifted a hand in fond farewell; Cheadle thought he saw the elderly man give a knowing wink before she entered the passenger's seat of Pariston's car, which door the blond-haired debonair-wannabe was holding for her.

And as they were driving off back to the city, Cheadle felt the boiling cauldron within her bubble once more.

"What's with this nonsense all of a sudden, Pariston?" she asked, not facing her addressee. The flowers were on her lap, and they stayed there, cradled.

Pariston's voice kept its warm edge. "You're quite a remarkable woman, Cheadle."

"You never answer my questions straight," she muttered, trying to mask the frustration in her tone.

"Cheadle, my dear," said Pariston, but Cheadle noted the carefulness in which he added _my dear_, "No woman has made an impression on me as you have. As you may now know, the Graives saw through my motives."

Cheadle made an uncomely sound in her throat. "Are you—" she couldn't finish the sentence, but Pariston gave a momentary sideways glance, his smile open without the usual candied flashiness.

"Yes, dear Cheadle, I am courting you," he finally said, sounding gentle and yet so _sure_.

_Stop the car, I'm getting off, and I'll walk, so help me God_, was what she wanted to say, but instead she found herself saying, after a mounting pause, "You wouldn't."

"I would," replied Pariston, cheerfully, happily.

"You already know my answer," affronted Cheadle.

"Allow a gentleman to try, my dear," returned the man, as though he was whistling a jig in his head. He seemed so much in good spirits that it made Cheadle want to bleed donuts.

"Gentleman?" came Cheadle's disbelieving but mild retort.

"As a member of the Zodiac Twelve, I do still have honor in me, my dear Cheadle, even though that I may not be the most pleasant person in the world (_ah, if only I could say the opposite_! thought Pariston), that much I know."

"Oh, so you do have some sensitivity in you. I've always thought you as callous and unfeeling."

"Harsh words, my dear!" Pariston feigned a frown. "But I forgive you. I would dearly want us to enjoy the night. I already made the reservations at _Café Du Chat_. I'm sure you'll find the night most delightful."

"Yes, delightful," echoed Cheadle, refusing to tire herself out from all her inner rage. Mrs. Graives' jovial voice rang in her head like a sweet little bell: _Enjoy the ride._

"All right, Pariston," Cheadle finally said, trying to unknot her tummy wires. "On your honor, give it your best shot."

_So why did I say that?_ she meandered.

"Bless your heart, my dearest," bustled Pariston, quite ecstatic; it seemed as though a thousand more light bulbs had lit the car's interior, which was darkening against the setting sun. "You will find me worthy of your affections."

Cheadle was shaking her head once more to the blooms on her lap, wondering how the days would unfold.

She remembered some lines from a Shakespearean play:

_My only love sprung from my only hate!  
__Too early seen unknown, and known too late!  
__Prodigious birth of love it is to me,  
__That I must love a loathed enemy._

"Oh joy," she muttered as Pariston's beaming self behaved and quietly drove all the way to their destination.

* * *

There was dinner and no wine; Cheadle didn't want any wine to muddle her judgment. Pariston actually looked nervous like a teenager awaiting his ladylove by the school gate. He smiled, he smiled, and he smiled, and for the first time in his life, it seemed, he didn't know what to say.

But he found his words. "You must think me so forward, my dear."

Cheadle's eyes were closed, and her brows were knitted, and she had popped the fork into her mouth with a piece of some delicious buttered fish. "Indeed," she replied, failing to hide her surliness.

"However, I am very much determined to capture your heart," professed Pariston, his cerulean eyes unblinking, wanting Cheadle to detect any falsity in them if she deemed to find any. Cheadle then looked up, and she did look into his eyes. She proceeded to close her own eyes again, and she drank her water quietly.

"So you said earlier," she slightly retorted.

"I'm very much grateful that you gave me this chance," he ventured, now observing a lone olive on his pasta.

"The only chance you'll get," was Cheadle's curt reply.

Pariston smiled. Cheadle was still not looking at him when he gently took her hand which she had carelessly laid in front of her. Cheadle's eyes then opened. Pariston was not disappointed at all to see scarlet bloom on her cheeks. Pariston, for a moment, sensed her impulse to pull her hand away, but she had given it a second thought. Her hand stayed.

"You're incorrigible," she said, almost under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

"You're beautiful," Pariston said, barely a whisper, and Cheadle looked like she was about to throw her unfinished plate on his head.

"STOP THAT!" she whispered fiercely, so as not to draw unwanted attention from other carefree diners. She convinced herself that she would not give in to any form of flattery from this fiend, but she remembered Manu's eyes, and the assurance that Pariston was, after all, up to _all good_.

"You are indeed remarkable, my dear Cheadle," continued Pariston, keeping the gentle cupping of his hand upon hers.

"Oh, what's this, I change my hairstyle one day and wore some high heels and now you're telling me I'm remark—"

"Our beloved Chairman Netero had always told me that I had a gift in deciphering people," Pariston said, gently cutting through Cheadle's suppressed rampage. "I've always been right, but you had ruined my streak, dearest. For once, I am proved wrong."

"So you always thought be dull, boring, and by-the-book?"

Pariston did not hide his giveaway smile. "Once upon a time."

"A Hunter in every sense," said Cheadle, amused. One can almost hear the titillating sound of a wild, wild West theme and two cowboys ready to draw and fire at a duel somewhere, playing in the background. "A hunter who loves the hunt."

"A man is a hunter by nature, true," affirmed Pariston. "I am enjoying the hunt, correct again." He had lifted his hand from her fingers to settle it on his chin. "I can not lie to you, Cheadle, on my honor, whether you think it's worth a jenny or not." He smiled when he caught her there. "A man would only pursue what is most precious to him. You, my dear, as you've heard from me before, are a gem worth pursuing."

"All right, all right, I get it, enough of your sweet talk," Cheadle exclaimed in near-exasperation, dabbing the sides of her mouth with a napkin. "Now I'm tired. And I want you to take me straight home. Don't see me by the door. I can handle myself."

Pariston calmly placed his fork down with relish. "As you wish, my dear," he said.

* * *

The next day, at her office, there was a pretty and absolutely _huge_ stuffed toy waiting for her at her desk.

Cheadle nearly fell over her heels (and she was wearing three-inch heels too) when she caught sight of the genteel black-and-white chap sitting on her chair: it was a toy Panda, beautifully made, and smelled of strawberries. There was a note on its paw, shaped like a heart.

"Of all the—" Cheadle wanted her morning to run smoothly, but Mr. Panda had other plans. On the note was she knew was Pariston's handwriting, even as it was unsigned.

_You are a jewel worth pursuing. _

Heart sparkle-star _emoji_ illustration.

"Creepier and creepier," mumbled Cheadle. She ripped the note off the huge Panda toy, but she did not sit on her chair. It was then when Beans knocked and entered her office.

"Chairperson Cheadle! That was delivered to you this morning. Don't worry, we've had it inspected thoroughly; it's safe to keep!" marveled the little legume man, round eyes beaming.

"Thanks Beans," Cheadle said. "Can you take this somewhere where it won't bother me?"

"Oh Chairperson, it's rude of me to ask, very very rude," stammered the little man, knotting his fingers in front of him.

Cheadle didn't think of it much when she nodded her head so the little man could speak his mind.

"Is Mr. Pariston court—"

"WHO ELSE KNOWS THIS?" Cheadle suddenly burst out, unbidden, and much to her own surprise.

The poor Beans seemed savaged by a hydra. "N-no one else, Chairperson. But it was Mr. Pariston who had requested me to make sure this makes it safely to your office…"

"Beans," Cheadle tried to sound austere, " you are _not_ Pariston's messenger boy. If Pariston wants anything sent to me, he should send them to me himself."

_And what on earth am I talking about?_ her mind wheezed.

"Mr. Pariston w-will hear of it, Chairperson," piped in Beans, quite all a-flutter. But there was some joy in his expression. Cheadle must be imagining it. Was Beans actually happy and approving of this silly little courtship?

She knew she had good things to eat this morning. She wasn't starved or poisoned.

She took a deep breath. "All right, the Panda stays. Kindly have it moved to the inner office." She gingerly kept Pariston's note in one of her pockets.

To her surprise, it didn't really cross her mind to throw Pariston's note away. She wanted to grit her teeth. _That Rat better be grateful that Manu Graives was there to filter through any malicious intentions he may be carrying towards me_, Cheadle thought. What Pariston had admitted to her last night at the café played in her mind again. She shook the flush from her cheeks.

It had been sheer habit to think of Pariston as a manipulating felon. However, she had seen how Ex-Chairperson Netero had favored Pariston the most among the Zodiac, and she knew that part of her resentment towards Pariston was actually jealousy. That, and of Pariston getting his way whenever he wanted it, how he wanted it.

She weighed that old belief with the new one: Pariston was sincere and in love with her.

Nope, did not compute.

Her phone rang. Without a second glance at the screen, she took the call. "Pariston," she said; she was sure it was he.

"OH MY GOSH, GIRL! Did you really think I was that nasty person?"

Cheadle nearly dropped her phone and died. That was Clook on the other line. She fumbled for her wits and talked to the receiver once more.

"Clook!" she said, recovering as much as she can. "No, of course not, wha—"

"Were you expecting a call from that freak?" the woman on the other end was asking her point blank.

"Well…" It was against Cheadle's principles to lie. "You can say that. Yes, I was."

"Oh girl! What for? Is he trying to get to you in any way? I can have Botobai and Ginta give him a little piece of—"

"Clook, no, he's not meaning any harm…"

Did Cheadle really want CLOOK of ALL people to know about Pariston and his hunt for his precious gem?

"That's news," Clook replied, a bit surprised. "You don't sound like yourself, either."

"Wh-what?" Cheadle felt the flush on her cheeks again. _Confound this_; is she slowly and surely being affected by Pariston's heady charms?

"Cheadle, girl?"

"Y-yes, Clook?"

"I was going to inform you that I won't be coming in today; a couple of my birds fell a bit ill. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, oh! Of course! I wish your birds speedy recovery."

"And, Cheadle, princess?"

"Yes, Clook?" Cheadle was used to Clook's terms of endearment for her girlfriends by now.

"If that Rat is causing you any trouble, you let me know, okay?"

Cheadle heaved a sigh. "Yes, I will, Clook. Thank you."

"Not at all, dear. Well, have a great day. Kisses."

"You too."

When Clook had hung up, Cheadle felt a pause fill the room. She recalled the animosity that existed between the Zodiac and Pariston Hill. If the rest knew of Pariston's intentions towards her, and if they knew that she was actually giving the Rat a chance, what would they think…?

Her phone rang once more. This time she took the discretion of glancing at the screen.

There he was. _Pariston_.

She answered a, "Thanks for the Panda," as soon as she clicked the cell phone to receive his call.

"My dear! I was going to wish you a wonderful day, but you're welcome. I'm glad you like it!"

"Not really, but thanks all the same."

"We're being hard to get, aren't we?" Pariston was being harmlessly playful, she hoped.

Cheadle, this time, counted to five. "Yes, _I_ am playing hard to get. Gems aren't precious at all if you can just take them in one swipe."

"Very charming metaphor, but you're right! However, if you must know, whether you accede to my courtship today or a hundred years hence, your allure would never fade."

"Yes, yes, how nice. Anyway, I have Chaiperson duties to attend to, so why don't _we_ hang this call up?"

"Oh, I apologize for keeping you. I do wish you a wonderful day."

"Thanks." She thought for a moment. "You too."

"Music to my ears, my dear!" came Pariston's genuinely exultant reply. "Yes, I am going to have a wonderful day, thanks to you."

"Okay, goodbye now."

"Goodbye, my dear!"

She was glancing at the Panda after the call. She wasn't sure if she was right in the head for she found herself conferring to the inanimate creature. "Well, Mr. Panda," said she, amused at the turn of events. "I hate to say this, but… I think I'm enjoying this hunt, too."

The Panda looked back at her with its sweet button eyes.

She reached into her pocket to fish out Pariston's note. She read it again, and again.

* * *

Pariston didn't call for a day. He had called her everyday for the past three weeks, but he had never shown himself to her since their dinner after visiting the Graives. He simply called, bidding her a wonderful day.

Somehow, her days did turn out wonderful whether she thought something of Pariston's greetings or not.

Today, she found herself fumbling. She had just received reports about the successful Pazifik Expedition which unearthed three hundred and seven newly identified species, but she couldn't find herself focusing on the report. Three of the eighteen missing Hunters were finally spotted, alive and well. She had received more cakes from the kind Mrs. Graives, and a few more gifts from her new alien friends. They were calling her the "interstellar ambassador of goodwill" or some sort of regal-sounding prattle. She appreciated all that, of course, but if only Pariston would call—

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called. It was nearly closing time, and everyone was shutting down operations for the day. This may be a late report—

"My dear Cheadle."

Cheadle nearly crushed the desk beneath the weight of her flustered paws.

"You come in unannounced?!" she spat, and quite not understanding why she was very angry all of a sudden.

Pariston looked rather taken aback. "A little _En_ to conceal my presence, my dear! I had hoped to surprise you—"

Cheadle crossed her arms. She suddenly felt silly and childish.

"I had received the message from Beans that if there is anything that I'd want to give to you…"

"…That you'd give it yourself. Yes, I remember that," Cheadle said, not knowing really where to plant her gaze on.

Pariston was as straight as a tinman. He then brought a fist to his mouth to clear his throat. Cheadle was silent for a moment as Pariston fished into his pocket. She actually noted how his hands were quaking.

Pariston, _nervous?_

He had finally produced the article of his search; it was a longitudinal burgundy velvet box.

"I was hoping to give you this," he announced, opening the box. Cheadle's eyes widened in spite of her efforts to remain nonchalant. Inside the box was a beautiful sapphire necklace, the tiny jewel glimmering like an enchanting little song, and it was hypnotizing.

"A necklace," Cheadle feigned disinterest. "How original."

But Pariston was seeing through her, Cheadle knew. There was a mark of joy in every angle of his face. Cheadle was afraid she was seeing a different Pariston, a Pariston she had never known before. And yet, the prospect agreed to her gradually until she felt the warmth in her cheeks once more.

"Allow me," Pariston said, and he took the necklace out of its box. He had wanted to drape it around her neck. Cheadle was a bit flabbergasted. She had never given any man such a privilege before.

Cheadle cleared her throat, and with supposed airs of _I don't care_, she turned around so he could clasp the necklace at the nape of her neck.

The necklace felt so perfect on her throat, as it dangled a little lower than her collarbones. It went well with the dark green of her long-sleeved blouse that hugged the curves of her body. This necklace seemed to hug the curves of her heart, along with Pariston's tenderness in fitting that necklace about her neck—

_That appointment with Dr. Fiz is overdue_, thought Cheadle. _I think I do need that sleeping pill._

Her guard was ebbing away, and she knew it. The Rat was weaseling his way into her heart, no more, no less.

She looked at Pariston at the corner of her eye. He was looking at her with thoughtful admiration.

"A gem for a gem, my Cheadle," Pariston said, slowly, even if Cheadle wanted to flinch from the cliché of it all.

"Since when was I yours, Pariston?" she inquired of him, not missing that he had simply called her, _my Cheadle_.

"Why, you have always been my dear Cheadle," Pariston smiled. Cheadle wanted to roll her eyes. "But," continued Pariston, his voice low and once more thoughtful, and there was a moment's trepidation in it, "When will Pariston be Cheadle's?"

_Bam_, went Cheadle's heart. Mrs. Graives' cakes were too delicious to waste if she wanted to dump them on his face.

"You know that's a stupid question," Cheadle kept her composure.

"My stubborn dear," observed Pariston, good-humoredly.

"Well," sputtered Cheadle, "You can't force a girl to like you back right away, right?"

_Right?_ her mind echoed.

"I'm a patient man," Pariston admitted, but he had once more taken her hand. Cheadle felt the butterflies in her tummy. She felt the blossoming heat on her face. She must be looking quite a sight. She wanted to be angry with herself, but she somehow couldn't find the anger there. She couldn't find it anymore, not towards herself, and not towards Pariston. Irritation, annoyance, yes, but the anger?

She was absently holding Pariston's hand in return, and she would not have realized it had Pariston's eyes not widened for a millisecond.

"Soon," Cheadle decided to grow just as much balls as the next Zodiac under fire. She felt an old joke play at the back of her head. Piyon once told her that if she—Cheadle, that is—and Pariston ever make amends, then there'd be a _good percent_ that world peace was going to happen.

Let world peace happen, then.

"I beg your pardon, my dear?" inquired Pariston, truthfully quite confused.

"You were asking when Pariston will be Cheadle's," she repeated.

Pariston looked like a balloon about to burst with candy sprinkles and teddy bears. "Ah, I must never underestimate your word, my dear."

Cheadle was, in all good humor, shaking her head rather fondly at the man. "Don't," she said. She smiled.

Oh well, the Zodiac Ten can have her head afterwards—perhaps not counting Ging, since he was really to preoccupied with other Hunter affairs (if not shirking Zodiac duty). Piyon would remember her world peace jest. The rest of the Zodiacs would catch on.

Ponytails, high-heeled boots, lipstick, aliens, Hunter Association in an excited uproar over the changes she'd made, literal dreams of the future, Mr. and Mrs. Graives and their lovely shining eyes and kind smiles, and then there was Pariston, flustered as a teenage boy, with his effervescent, ubiquitous smile, her hand in his, and the big world and even larger universe.

Less than two months as Hunter Association Chairperson, and she was having the ride of her life.

At the back of her mind, she saw the late Ex-Chairman's Netero's grinniest grin, and on top of that, she could hear Mrs. Graives' hearty chuckle. "Enjoy the ride," and this time, with more lasting words: "And cherish the destination."

* * *

**A/N:** OKAY SENDING THIS OFF IT'S ALMOST THE DEADLINE xDDD

And thank you for reading, I love you all. You all rock! Yay!

Cheers and all a-rush,

DW-chan :3


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